Stand By You – The Art of Coming Together

Yesterday I talk about my first venture into self help and how I helped this couple. Since when I first began this journey, I got a very under normal circumstances (when I use to be a delicate flower) would have taken it personal as his biased opinion as insulting and as degrading as it was, said that I was victimizing bitches to be gold diggers. What I asked him next was something that I never gained a response back from. Because the undertone I saw in that message was “Out of all the women that crossed your path” which is why when people give me this drawn out reason where they justify their response to avoid judgement begs me to ask the question “how do you really feel” which is in every interaction where someone asks me to help is the boundary that no one ever seems to follow at all is “I will respect you more if your completely transparent with me” which my male counterparts (regardless of which walk of life they are currently are as this is only temporary if you make it) tend to show in their actions that they think I am gullible. Actions speak louder than words. The words you tell me goes in one ear and out the other. The continued attempt has me playing chameleon and then correcting them. After the third offense, when I say “you really think I am stupid huh” and after telling them every action that has shown they can no longer be trusted, turns into a battlefield of insults that in the end based on the way it plays reveals the one true reason why they not only feel the way they feel, but now they ended up on the road they are currently traveling on. Which breaks my heart where severely hurt, tears. I never show them as their pride and inflated ego will also make them believe it was personally for them, which ultimately is “fake news.” In this journey and I have to say thanks to pre-med venture when I first started college, anticipating of being a doctor has you trained to never get attached to patients. When my uncle died, it was too difficult for me to do as the rock that helped me successfully accomplish was gone. In the end, that hurt I felt was not because of them, because “The Journey of A Road Unraveled” for my father was a biased, unfair, and merciless one. As women just as broken as they are become the vindictive and most rustless entities in the pursuit of success. Starting off with good intentions become ruthless and vindictive by influence through their social groups, by personal interactions, by relationships that involve men already men who have lost all hope, and by the social norms of what women should appear if they want to be accepted. In the end making an amazing man, like my father and so many others bow to the standards of social norms. Where men have to brave and strong and where men still looking at women as their role “barefoot and pregnant” make them do the most ruthless things. Where if the things done are not forgiving by them and the unresolved issues not fixed leads to a standstill where resentment, loneliness, and regret in pride makes a man into something he was never meant to be. Because truth is, men already with an upper hand in society can achieve a greatness they never imagined. When receptive to the response of selfless women, can become the most positively influential man that can begin the movement in the positive change we all truly want to see. Because it was my father that made my fight something to fight harder for.

When my dad’s health began to decline, my dad and I had a rocky relationship. Part of it was him and part of it was me. I was becoming the woman that he first began resenting, my mom. He had his personal reasons but truth which s the past. Truth is there are many amazing qualities. I remember I was at work when I was working healthcare where already tired and only sleeping 2 hours due to the full-time student and full-time employee role. My grandmother told me that my dad was taken by ambulance which was when the blood clot they found in his leg would later today be the stroke that kept him from walking even with treatment. The brave women she was showed no emotion as not to scare me, but the what she told me in my medical training told me otherwise which, in that current situation had a 40 chance of recovery or survival. I remember seeing him not responsive and with a ventilator thinking about the fight we had two days ago and the things that we said to each other. On the way to school as I was on the bus at that time had me sitting in the bus with my thoughts going all over the place in reference to my father. The fights, the memories, the milestones we both celebrated, the loses we had, and most importantly the nurturing comfort he gave me when relationships and the men in them made me feel like I was nobody. When the world as cruel as it was said I did not fit the social norms of the average woman and how proud he was of me for already beating the odds. You have to understand that beating the odds where I come from is not of unrealistic expectations. Where I come from we are lucky if we make it out of high school and go to college at the minimum as the norm is work, kids, and family. If we own a house, we made it.

I use to hold my emotions in as the whole visit and on the way home, no tears left my eyes. I called in and sent an email when I got home to my professor saying I had a family emergency and couldn’t make it in to class. While back then the immediate response as I held these emotions in was to drink sorrows away, I ended up getting a Four Lokos (told you I was hood) and watched TV after a failed attempt of being productive was not working in my favor. That’s when the “Share A Coke” commercial came on, seeing the father daughter dance at a quincenera my dad couldn’t afford. Still having hope and maintaining that hope that maybe someday I’ll walk the aisle made the flood gates open. Reliving the times my dad accused me of thinking I was better than him as my shitty attitude made him believe it as truth. Where all the things I did at the time didn’t take full accountability as the “what about me” mentality was stronger than my rational mindset I gained now, where real talk was pretty selfish as it only took into consideration my individual come up Macklemore references as “capitalism.” I immediately packed a bag and walking 30 minutes to the bus stop to catch the lineup to downtown San Antonio stayed the night beside my dads bed mournfully crying apologizing for being the worst daughter ever, which maybe because he recognized my cry came back to consciousness.

Fast forward thirteen years later my dad fallen now in the mist of his stroke where he is between fighting our surrendering in his attempt to begin walking have had ups and downs in our relationship but still stay close. The difference that keeps the bond stronger is my ability to not take anything personal. Where already known that regardless if in their (my family) inability to respect my boundaries will walk out of their life to assure that we both don’t compromise the unconditional love we maintained our whole life. As now with this rational mentality point out the things I have control and the things they do. When they expect me to give them special treatment when they cross the line and use family dynamics as an excuse, in their mind use to portray this as “you think your better than me” which made them in their perception appear as irrational behavior which in the mist of the COVID pandemic had me retreat in a hotel in downtown San Antonio that made them also think I no longer wanted to be around them, which in the retaliation that we all look as “pendejadas” laugh and tease each other about as our inside joke. Maybe the turning point was me getting COVID, which surprisingly in the small house in “Memorial Heights” which was how it was referenced now coming back from Houston is now our boogie attempt to have the community come up. COVID after killing my immunologist classmate in NYC almost took my life which at first skeptical of the virus as my zombie apocalypse survival mentality came to play already planning a garden and all the potential solutions needed to survive if things get worst. Which in a conversation with my dad when he was already at the point where his concern was turning into fear asked “what would you do if this became survival of the fittest”, which then replied with “all bets are off” that in that moment it’s down to the survival of the fittest. Asking “what happens if the barrio goes crazy” responded well talking to some neighbors (which I already knew that they were entertaining me) say they would if worst case scenario ban together, but knowing people I will play the part they think I am. Which dad growing up in the start of what is now the zombie apocalypse craze, asked what if people start killing people which gave him comfort when I said “Uncle Mike prepared me this with the training he gave me while you served time for a petty crime which included MMA training, combat training, and ballistics gorilla training, which we all were told the stories of his time in the military. The plan had everything which looking at living off the grid sites, which some being irrationally hysterical and paranoia which COVID has shown even if you don’t want to admit to it, we are on a delicate balance that with one drift can make the house of cards we perceive as concrete can fall at any given time. Where my past post all psychological in nature brought me to a site that plays on metaphor which brings truth to my previous blog “The Plague of Emotional Social Disease Called Narcassim” where Robert Richardson on plays metaphor on what I point out brining far more factors into the equation I would have overlooked. Where the pain we feel in a burning world where hope seems inevitable which protecting your emotions from social norms that turns good people into narcissist proves his metaphor he uses in cultural zombification. Where as the odds get dimmer and younger generations see the doom they seem to little by little have no hope for chance turn to music where the distorted messages based on their own biased perceptions turn them into narcissist before their teenage years. Now drug addiction starting as early as 10 years old result from bath salt snorting which was the first instant that the fear of zombie apocalypse was a dim reality. Where the price of chocolate that back in 2016 inflated as the zombified ant that infected the cocoa supply that gets imported was found in various shipments of chocolate and produce that the CDC never publicly announced to avoid panic but had chocolate lovers complain about the overprice chocolate which turned to protest that stemmed other personal biased opinions like inclusion and all these things for a plea to gain acceptance. Where addiction which only focus on chemical dependency omitted the addiction to prescription drugs (designer drugs) that gateway those dependent (usually begins in the upperclass and trickles into the low class) affecting all of the classes as a whole. Where if your not addicted to a chemical, your addicted to the fabulous life which triggers a emotion in the arousal zone that in pain also triggers the same area. Where if importance and inclusion is not fulfilled in those means it moves to another emotion of success or love, which follows instant gratification that when not gets fulfilled leads you back to the elite and powerful crutching of emotional pain through chemical dependency that depression hits faster when you are not backed up by money. That these social norms we all strive for in hindsight don’t mean shit. That the denial we deflect daily in the fear of getting hurt and rejected by the need to be included puts us in people who are chronically infected which our “friends” acting like they are happy make us believe that they have the answers we need to attain that happiness. That in many cases those without the courage to be different conform back through fear of not fitting in. That my journey and accepting my faults and flaws which gave me the courage that in essence gave me what some refer to as “superhuman power” made me see things for what they are which those extremest always having some of those answers but never having a way on how to connect the dots, by coincidence led me to his article “The Zombie Apocalypse is Real, and it’s already started.” Which already having the social norm view, backed up by previous medical training, and now on my way to further expand my education in hopes of becoming a clinical psychologist, had me read the article to see the mentality already assuming that it was hysteria. And seeing all the things that I reference with the zombified ants and the zombified wasps and the earlier blogs of parasitic zombification which already fluid in, made me miss what I saw social norms in society has been causing. That maybe, we are metaphorically already living in a zombie apocalypse. And as all zombie apocalypse stories show, everyone becomes a zombie in the end. Where those who had the cure are now part of the problem. Which my next question that is the undeterminable variable, in this metaphoric zombie world Robert portrays, how much longer do I have until I also become a zombie. Now my concern being, will destiny if the universe doesn’t says “fuck humanity” give me the opportunity to assure that the cure that saves humanity in this metaphor doesn’t die with me. As real talk, makes the world see my positive attitude, the light at the end of the tunnel, and the rational mindset to weigh both sides keeping both sides accountable as socially un-normal. Or what people like to say “crazy”.

Published by Frieda Lopez at Frieda the Writer

Frieda López is the writer for Journey of an Unraveled Road who was born and raised in San Antonio, TX. Through her professional career in Customer Relations and Retail Management, she has utilized her experience and interactions with the behavioral patterns, which was used to start her personal journey with Journey of A Unraveled Road as her debut novel. She has completed philosophy, psychology, and theology courses at San Antonio College as well as creative writing courses. Frieda López has been a lifelong writer since 2nd grade. A survivor of childhood trauma, childhood abuse, and domestic violence, she wrote this piece, which started this book as her personal journey; works from home in San Antonio, TX.

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